


Things We Hold

by takadainmate



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-29
Updated: 2011-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takadainmate/pseuds/takadainmate
Summary: Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin. Stephen watches whales. Jack thinks it's too cold.
Relationships: Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Things We Hold

It was late morning, and the lamps were still lit. Where it should have been light the sky was little beyond a dull twilight, grey-blue, filled with snow that blanketed the deck, freezing rope solid, spider-webs of ice creeping across the main cabin's doors. It should have been at least a fraction warmer with any glimpse of the sun at all, even as shrouded and distant as it was. Warmer than the long, dark nights, but Jack could feel no difference.

The crew grumbled, grew as bitter as the winds that burned their cheeks and cut through any thickness of clothes, any type, and Jack couldn't begrudge them their foul mood.

And Stephen, come across a great many whales, swimming along the leeward side as though their self-appointed convoy, forwent common sense and spent part of the night and all of the morning watching them.

Jack could only blame himself, because he was all too aware of the way Stephen became single-mindedly blinkered to anything beyond his naturalising. He had seen it before, but he hadn't considered that even Stephen's constitution and stubborn determination could equip him to spend so long on deck, a fine snow storm sweeping the desks, battering at him.

This was how Jack found Stephen, his fingers a disturbing purple-red where he wore no gloves, forgone in favour of note taking. There was no missing the way his shoulders hunched over, as though he were trying to burrow more deeply into his great coat, heavy with snow. In no conscience would Jack allow Stephen to remain outside a moment longer.

Stephen, it seemed, did not even realise how cold it was.

"Jack!" he greeted. "I mean to say, Captain," and his face was little different from the bleached white snow, his voice difficult to hear over the winds. "This is fascinating..."

He frowned then and Jack could hear his friend's teeth chattering.

"Come inside, come inside, Doctor," Jack said, touching Stephen's elbow because he was unsure how long it had been since Stephen had moved at all but he did not doubt it had been a very great while.

A look of disappointment passed across Stephen's face, and Jack wondered if he was going to have to physically drag Stephen away. He would prefer not to, not least because he was aware of the many eyes watching them. Jack wondered if any of the crew had tried to convince Stephen to go below. He couldn't imagine any of them being successful.

"They are so very graceful," Stephen said looking out towards the sea somewhat wistfully. He turned to Jack. "Though, I find I'm very cold all of a sudden. Was it so cold before? No matter, no matter, you must see Captain."

"It very much matters," Jack thought, but did not say anything, worried now that the hours spent out in this snowstorm had somehow softened Stephen's mind. Jack had heard tales of snow-blindness and snow-madness, but there was no delirium in Stephen's eyes, now that he looked, only that quiet, immovable dedication to interest and curiosity that was an unequivocal part of Stephen's nature. His friend was pointing out into the distance where Jack could see movement, and yes, large creatures, and Stephen was explaining, "I saw a dissection of a brain in London some years ago." Jack saw the way his friend's hands shook. It fortified Jack's resolve to take Stephen inside.

"Yes, yes," Jack agreed. "We're in whaling waters after all. I'm sure the creatures will be here after breakfast."

Stephen blinked at him, and Jack saw the heavy, frozen moisture on his eyelashes. If it were proper, Jack should very much like to take Stephen's pencil and notebook from him. He was sure Stephen would follow _them_ inside.

Around them, the snow storm raged on and there was some small hint of morning, some better light.

"We shall have coffee," Jack encouraged. "And perhaps you can explain to me your observations. It is so very hard to hear." And it was even the truth because Jack was obliged to lean in close to Stephen's side so that they could hear each other.

Stephen seemed undecided for a moment, caught between naturalising and breakfast- most certainly tempted by coffee- and Jack took the opportunity presented by Stephen's indecision, taking his arm firmly and leading him away from the side of the ship.

"Come, come," he said, "The stove is lit. Doctor, your coat is soaked through. You know Killick will not take kindly to that."

With his first step, Stephen stumbled, caught himself on Jack's arm. He looked up, his expression embarrassed.

"I beg your pardon," he said, and Jack nodded amiably.

"Of course, my dear Doctor. You must be all seized-up, standing for so long like this. Why, I can't imagine you've moved at all, like a statue, no doubt. Quite understandable. A statue made of ice." Jack smiled. "Then we should have been obliged to place you beside the ovens and see you unfrozen. Like water you'd have been, Stephen."

Jack laughed, turned to see Stephen looking back at him, more perplexed than anything. It was the cold, Jack decided, which was slowing Stephen's wits.

Helping Stephen down the gangway to the quarter deck was a precarious thing, and it did not help that Stephen's great coat dripped puddles all the way. It was with great relief that Jack came to his cabin door and pulled Stephen inside, calling to Killick for dry clothes and more coffee. Predictably his steward took one look at Stephen and rolled his eyes before slinking away tutting and muttering under his breath.

Out of the storm, in the orange-light of the lanterns, Stephen's complexion looked even worse than Jack had imagined; pale and tired, his forehead covered in an ill sheen. Not being a medical man, Jack could not tell if it was from the snow, or from some sickness. In his years of service Jack had seen many men sicken and die from long exposure to the cold. Or at the least, that was what Jack had presumed had killed them, for their skin was frozen and their bodies shivered and shook and then lay despondent until the end.

"Stephen would have a name for it," Jack thought, but it was not something which was going to happen to his friend.

Jack said, "Stephen, I would be obliged if you would cease dripping upon my floor."

"As you wish," Stephen agreed, "I shall endeavour to desist," and Jack noticed then that Stephen was shivering. Stephen grimaced, struggling out of his coat, heavy as it was, and with Killick away and terrorising the lower decks Jack felt it his duty to help. "I thank you, Jack," Stephen said, and seemed much relieved to be free of the bulk. Now Jack had the material in his hands he could feel how sopping it was, and left it hung over the back of a chair.

Stephen's shaking had become much more pronounced and he wrung his hands together, looking at his notebook on the table even as his eyes closed, as though he were going to sleep where he stood. It would not do.

Retrieving a blanket from his own cot, Jack manoeuvred Stephen into a chair, drawn as close to the stove as he dared, pulling off his friend's coat and neckcloth. Stephen started at Jack's touch but didn't protest, rather, he looked contrite and asked, "There was coffee? I should like coffee. I am very grateful to you, Jack. I think I lost all sense of time."

It was, in all honesty, not a great deal warmer inside than out, even with the stove and the windows of the cabin fastened tight, but there was no wind and no snow, and Jack was glad to be able to wrap Stephen in dry blankets. Jack was perhaps not so pleased to help pull off his wet stockings, but if it would stop Stephen from shivering quite so violently he would do it.

"The holes in these!" Jack cried, looking at the threadbare toes and heels and resolving to beg Sophie for more stockings for Stephen in his next letter. "I would say you didn't know how to sew, except you have sewed me and most of the crew up at some time or another."

"Sewing flesh and sewing cloth are incomparable; completely at odds," Stephen protested. Jack did not think so, but Stephen's eyes were closing again, already half-asleep, his feet bare against the cold floor. He would trick Stephen into handing over his stockings to Killick, Jack decided. He would find a way to do it.

Leaning back in the chair, Stephen drew the blankets more tightly around his shoulders, his chin falling to his chest. His long, crooked fingers were still an unhealthy purple, so important to his trade and to his music, and Jack did not want to allow anything bad to happen to them again so he stood before Stephen, took his hands and began rubbing warmth into his fingers. They were as cold as the ice, and Jack could feel the bones and the joints under the skin. At the first touch, Stephen looked up at Jack, but without apprehension, more like curiosity, and Jack smiled at him warmly and with affection.

It would not be long before Killick returned with the coffee, and with dry clothes for Stephen. Jack could already hear his steward berating some poor soul for _touching my bleedin' pot, you whoreson bugger_. Now, though, Jack could warm Stephen's hands, he could do this for his friend. It was so rare that they touched. It was not, after all, strictly proper, but the trusting way Stephen offered up his hands to Jack brought him a strange, open sense of joy. Stephen, too, seemed to take comfort and pleasure when Jack pressed his fingers into Stephen's palms, worked up along his thumbs. Neither spoke- there was nothing to say- but the shaking of Stephen's body lessened, and his shoulders relaxed and in the dim light of the cabin, Jack was sure Stephen was smiling and watching him even as he kept his head bent.

Soon, they would be Doctor Maturin and Captain Aubrey again, but in this long moment of quiet and closeness they could be Stephen and Jack, and Jack could warm Stephen's hands even as Stephen's trust and friendship warmed his heart.

**.End.**


End file.
